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by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fairies, Fix It Fic, M/M, Magic is dead but Quentin is determined, bc fuck the finale for leaving them no way to et back to each other, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:56:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10679094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: Quentin Coldwater fucking misses Eliot Waugh. And it’s more than the, ‘he’s my friend and he matters’ kind of missing. It’s the full body ache, migraine inducing longing kind of missing. He wakes up missing him, he falls asleep wondering if he’s even alive. Every day, every moment, every thought is of Eliot.





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**Author's Note:**

> The finale kind of took my heart, ground it up into a very thin paste, and then spread it over the length of the freeway, and drop cars with spikes for wheels over it. So, I wanted to write a fix it fic. Hope you enjoy!

Alice left a note before she completely disappeared. At least she had the decency to explain why she’d run off after two months of relative ease between them. They’re not back together, not by a long shot. But he’s still bitter. At least, he is until he’s sitting in class learning about Magic he can’t fucking cast, and something clicks in his head. She’d said that things made of magic that didn’t rely on the wellspring were alive and well. Like Vampires, and all the mythical beats that plague fantasy.

It’s no secret how broken up Quentin is about everything. And by everything, it could be simplified to a name;

Eliot. 

He’s got Julia and Brakebills and all of this world that used to hold magic, and he’s fine. Except he’s not. Because, in the past four months - which is gods know how long in Fillory at this point - he’s made a couple of realizations:

1\. It wasn’t Brakebills that made him feel better.   
2\. It wasn’t magic that made him feel better.  
3\. He was in love with Eliot.  
4\. And, oh yeah, it was definitely Eliot that made things bearable.

Quentin Coldwater fucking misses Eliot Waugh. And it’s more than the, ‘he’s my friend and he matters’ kind of missing. It’s the full body ache, migraine inducing longing kind of missing. He wakes up missing him, he falls asleep wondering if he’s even alive. Every day, every moment, every thought is of Eliot. 

And yeah, it fucked him up a bit in the beginning when he realized that his feelings go beyond platonic with drunken sex thrown in. He’d always found men and women attractive, sure, but he never really thought about it. Which is fucking ridiculous, because even that first day, when he first met Eliot, his first thought was somewhere along the lines of, “Is it even legal to be that beautiful?” But he’d brushed it off as some slip of the brain, brought on by a school exploding into his world. 

Which, yeah, ridiculous, Quentin can admit that much. 

But, it’s also devastating. Because he could have had all this time, all this fucking time, with Eliot. The threesome wouldn’t have put a rift in their friendship, probably would have still happened, but he wouldn’t have - god. The moment he realized why the threesome affected them all so much was nearly enough to break him. He’d been the one to bring Eliot into it, had stopped him from leaving. Only to outright reject, and blame him the next morning. 

All because he was so invested in this relationship with Alice. Alice who doesn’t want him, and never even knew why she did in the first place. Alice who leaves without a goodbye, despite knowing -

There was no goodbye. When he left Fillory, he’d left without a goodbye. To Eliot, to Margo, to anyone. Eliot was busy figuring out what the fuck they were supposed to do, Margo was actually taking the time to accept the fact that she was down an eye, and Quentin, in all his naivety and desperation, wanted to get back to Alice. 

He’d killed a god, but he couldn’t be bothered to say a fucking goodbye to the person who meant the most to him. 

And by the time he realizes, after Alice tells him the plumber is turning all the magic off, by the time he makes it to the clock - it’s too late. It’s just a regular fucking clock, and he has no way to return to Fillory. Even then, before he realized what Eliot means to him, it crushed him.

But Alice’s note. Alice’s fucking pathetic attempt at making all of this okay - it gives him an idea. It’s crazy idiotic, and there’s no way it can work, but he misses Eliot more than he can even put in words, and every breath is a dagger pressing up against his heart. So, if he’s going to die, he’d rather it be on his terms, not in this once magical school, surrounded by people as lost and confused as he is. 

He wants Eliot. 

And how, exactly, is he supposed to get back to Fillory when there’s no magic, no portal, no way to communicate? 

Quentin fucking Coldwater is going to slay a god damned dragon. He’d killed a god, how fucking hard could it be to kill a dragon? Besides, the very dragon that comes to mind isn’t exactly the nicest bitch this side of Boston.

And, yes, he is drunk, and no, he doesn’t care if he dies. 

 

*

 

Julia catches him sneaking out. He half expects her to tell him he’s an idiot, but her sparkly fingers twitch, and the next thing he knows, the two of them are heading down to the sewer to kill themselves a dragon.

She laughs at them, calls them, “Puny humans.” 

And it’s not easy, because, duh, she’s a fucking dragon, and she can breathe fire. But they do it, and Quentin doesn’t even know how they do it. They just see her giant, lizardly body start sinking into the depths of the water, and then she’s gone. They stare at the black water for a long moment before a hysteric giggle bubbles out of Julia’s lips and they turn to look at each other. 

“Q, we just killed a dragon.” 

And Quentin wants to feel the joy, and relief with her, but all he can do is turn to the giant hoard of things the dragon had collected over the years and start digging. She watches him for a moment before dropping the sword - they’d stolen it from the deans office - and moving to look through everything with him. 

The sun rises before they even make a dent in it massive pile. Julia tells him to take a nap, and she’ll dig, and then if she doesn’t find anything, she’ll take a nap and he can dig. 

And that’s just what they do, because of course the dragon couldn’t make it easy, and just leave the damn button lying around for them to find. No, she just had to hide it somewhere in this cavern, and leave them to dig it up. To spend hours, and hours looking through thousands of magical items. And they know they’re magical, because they can sense it. Can feel it when their fingers graze the surface. 

Julia thinks its because the dragon is so magical on her own, that her essence somehow sank into everything, and pretty much solar powered everything. 

Quentin doesn’t care. He just wants to find the button. 

And then, nearly two days later - they haven’t left the sewers at all, too engrossed in their quest - he’s woken up by an excited scream from her. “Q! Wake up! I found it!” 

And he lays there for a moment, petrified. Because, yes she found it, and yes everything else in this shit hole may still hold magic, but it could very well be their luck that the button is the one thing void of any magic. But he sits up, and he looks at her, gazes at the box in her hand. He refuses to get his hopes up, even as she brings it to him, grabs his hand and pops the lid. 

He closes his eyes and doesn’t open them until he tastes opium in the air. 

Even then, though, he digs his nails into Julias arms. “Jules -,” 

And she leans in close, whispers, “We’re here, Q. We’re in Fillory.” 

So he opens his eyes, and finds a fucking spear staring him in the face, with a fucking fairy on the other end of it glaring at him. 

“Oh for fucks sake!” He feels a bit like Penny, in this moment. 

But then, a strong, feminine voice calls, “Wait,” And the spear falls, and a fairy, as white as snow floats towards them, because of course fairies are dramatic. “I know this one.” She tilts her head and examines him. “You are the one that killed Ember. You freed us.” 

“I - yes. I killed Ember. Don’t know about freeing you.” 

She smiles, sinister and lets her feet finally touch the ground. “You may have one wish, Quentin Coldwater.” 

Quentins brow furrows, and he turn his gaze on Julia. “I keep getting wishes, but I din’t know why she’s offering me one . . .Last time I had to hunt down the white lady.” 

Julia gives him a look, and shakes her head, turning her attention on the fairy. “Take us to Eliot.” 

The fairy sneers at her. “You do not give demands, earth girl. You are expendable.” 

Quentin shakes his head, stumbling to his feet, a tight grip on Julia’s hand, “No,” He says, “You won’t hurt her. I want to be taken to High King Eliot, and I want us all to be safe from harm.” 

“You ask a lot for someone so near death.” 

Quentin lets out a cold laugh at that. “I’ve been near death longer than I’ve been able to breathe, lady. You said I get a wish - that’s my fucking wish!” His voice starts rising, and he ends on a yell, as he takes a step closer to her, pointing an index finger at the ground. 

The fairy watches him for a long moment before she nods slow, her eyes never once leaving Quentins. “As you wish, Quentin Coldwater.” She lifts a hand and waves forward some fairies. 

As they approach, Quentin asks, “He’s alive, right?” Because he hadn’t thought of it before. He knew it was a possibility, of course it was, that Eliot had been killed by the old gods when they turned off magic, but it hadn’t been a genuine, actual thought until he’s looking into the fairies eyes, and she seems to know something that he doesn’t. 

She doesn’t respond, and as the fairy grabs onto his arm, he feels a cool, vast emptiness wash over him. In one minute of silence, she’d been able to strip away all the hope he’s had stocked away these past months, and left him gasping for air. 

And then, suddenly they’re in the throne room, surrounded by fairy guards. 

“Oh what now -,” the familiar chill of Eliot’s frustration echoes around the room as Quentin opens his eyes and see’s the familiar head of curly brown hair turning around to face them. “I’m - ,” And he stops midspin, his jaw going slack as he looks between Quentin and the fairies. Slowly, he completes the turn, so he can face Quentin head on. 

They stand there for what feels like ages. Quentin’s heart is hammering in his chest; he can hear his blood rushing through his hears. Can feel Julia’s hand pressed to his shoulder, but everything’s frozen. 

Because it’s Eliot, and he’s alive, and he’s right fucking there. 

And then he’s moving, running across the throne room until he’s crashing into Eliot’s chest with a forceful hug, wrapping his arms around him as tight as he can, just to make sure he’s real. He’s not sure he is, not really, until Eliot’s arms move around, slowly, carefully, like he’s not sure this is real either, and grip him just as tightly. 

He buries his face in Eliot’s chest, and inhales. 

There’s that scent. He doesn’t know what it is, has never asked, - something like the forest, and vanilla, and lilac all mixed together in this one intoxicating scent - but it can only be found on Eliot, and god, he’s missed it. He’s missed this. He’s missed him. 

And then Eliot’s pulling away and grabbing at his face, holding him with both hands as he looks down at him. “Am I hallucinating?” He asks, a big manic, confused grin on his lips as his eyes dart between Quentins. 

And Quentin smiles up at him, “If you were, how would asking me help?” 

And Eliot laughs, pulling him in for another hug, picking him up and spinning him around. 

They pull apart again, and Quentin reaches up to cup Eliot’s face, stares up at him, tries to take in every bit of him that he can. There’s a new scar along his cheekbone that Quentin rubs his thumb along. He stares at him, and Eliot watches back. His eyes are just as frantic as Quentin’s as he looks over him. 

He doesn’t know who leans in first, but he closes his eyes, doesn’t want to, but can’t resist, and then they’re kissing. 

They kiss for a just a moment, close lipped and full of something neither of them know how to feel, before they pull away and again, stop and stare at each other. 

Quentin’s the first to speak. 

“I fucking love you,” He says, the words rushed and desperate as he runs a hand across Eliot’s jaw, and laces it through the impossibly soft curls at the base of his skull. “I - I didn’t know, and I was stupid, and I shouldn’t have left, I should - I just, I love you, okay? I fucking love you, Eliot.” 

And Eliot grins down at him, says, “Of course you do, you loser,” And leans down to pull him back in for another kiss. He stops, just an inch away, furrowing his brow, “You are going to have to tell me how the fuck you go here, though. Magic is dead, or haven’t you heard?” 

The corner of Quentin’s lip quirks up, and he nods, almost guiltily, “Yeah, moreso now than before.” 

Eliot tilts his head, and pulls back a little further. “What does that mean?” 

Before Quentin can respond, Julia’s voice calls out, “He killed a dragon. Just to get to you.” Eliot’s eyes go wide as he snaps them back down to Quentin, and he Quentin makes a face, sorry but not really, and shrugs. Julia adds, “So like, don’t fuck it up.” 

“Of fucking course you killed a dragon. You killed a god - why not a dragon?” Eliot mutters as he pulls him in for another kiss.


End file.
